


Overtired

by uncreativerabbit



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Minor Character Death, POV Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Post 3x06, TW: Suicide Mention, eve being a badass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24287467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncreativerabbit/pseuds/uncreativerabbit
Summary: Post 3x06. On the floor of her bathroom, Villanelle is trapped in the uncomfortable state of exhaustion but is unable to find escape. She contemplates how she got here and how to free herself, until somebody does it for her. One-shot.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 19
Kudos: 210





	Overtired

**Author's Note:**

> tw: suicide consideration & blood.

Villanelle couldn’t see.

She was slumped on the floor of her bathroom in her Barcelona villa, her arm pulsing with the pain of some half-assed stitching. The lights were bright but her eyes blurry and she could hear Dasha moving through the apartment, but it was muffled. She still felt the sting of Dasha’s unwelcome, faux-comforting touch on her face but she didn’t have the energy to wipe it off her face.

Villanelle was exhausted. She wanted out and she couldn’t conceal it anymore. Dasha had offered her cheap pizza to push her through to her next kill like she pretended to know Villanelle well. She knew Dasha was using her as a way out. All of her stories and encouragement to be powerful were bullshit, she just wanted Villanelle to help her get home. There was nothing for her in return, all she was offered were the luxuries she was desperate to swap for power. Villanelle should have believed Konstantin, but when was he ever to be trusted? He had offered her a way out in return for silence, but only if she trusted and waited. Villanelle didn’t have the stamina. She would break into pieces before he would come and get her.

Besides, she was reconsidering the heat of Cuba. Barcelona was too stuffy for her now. She wanted somewhere cold and icy. Eve liked Alaska, Villanelle had thought. Somewhere in her apartment sat that snow globe she had stolen from Niko. She should be there right now, in some cabin in a place that took two hours to drive to from the nearest town lying next to Eve by a fireplace, watching a dumb movie that Eve would pick apart and laugh at.

Did she regret testing Eve? Yes and no. Testing Eve meant that she would know if Eve was prepared for the run, in case The Twelve decided to pursue. Losing one of their top assassins would be a blow, and even if they swore that not a word would leave their lips, they knew too much to live. She still remembers Eve’s face when she saw the gun, though. Eve had followed her and not questioned their plans for Alaska until she saw that. Villanelle had watched her soft face turn stoney as she squared up to Villanelle, slapping away her soothing hands. Eve was hers, and she was determined to show that. She gave her an option in her head.  _ Come with me or die. _

Eve had chosen the unnamed third option. She had not come with her, and not died and instead bore a scar somewhere on her body not unlike the vengeful one that she gave Villanelle.

The two still danced together even when they thought the other was gone. Villanelle had pursued Eve, Eve had run. They had met on the bus, mingled, fought, kissed and then Villanelle had run. Was Eve pursuing Villanelle, now? It was her turn to be chased and then she could end this game once and for all and be caught. Villanelle pressed her lips together and ran her tongue over her bottom lip. She craved that gentle touch again, the feeling still lingering in her memory. She wanted Eve and this time not just for power. She wanted Alaska again, or even just the bitter winds and pelting rain of London. Curled up in a bed in a dingy apartment waiting for a microwave meal to heat up or some takeaway. She would kill almost anyone for that. Anyone but Eve.

She felt overtired. That state of mind where she was beyond rest, beyond sleep but also too paralysed with exhaustion to move or to plan. She couldn’t escape, she was distressed, she wanted to scream, she wanted to thrash about but she was pinned to her bathroom floor. Her mind was alive yet blurry, so clear on her goals yet so distorted. How did she become so trapped when all she wanted was autonomy?

Villanelle thought of the gun in her wardrobe. She could kill herself, that would be the ultimate escape and she would take it. It would be a  _ fuck you _ to Eve, to The Twelve, to Dasha, to anyone else who abandoned her after they had gotten what they wanted. Eve’s game stops and she could retreat back to being the bored housewife to the mediocre husband, Dasha doesn’t get to go home and The Twelve loses one of their best assassins. It would test Konstantin’s loyalties. Would he even grieve for her?

  
  
The gun wasn’t in reach for her, though. She couldn’t even get up, let alone make it to the bedroom, load the gun, aim it and shoot. The plan died as quickly as she considered it. Villanelle looked at the scissors next to her but that would require actual physical strength. She had none. 

So she was doomed to wander aimlessly in her mind until another postcard was thrown at her and she was told to get her shit together.

Villanelle tried to focus back in on life. She could hear a bit of a scramble and a voice that wasn’t Dasha’s, but it was too far away for her to register it. Her ears still rang, it was probably Helene or some other bitch from The Twelve dropping off a bullshit job with some overpriced shitty champagne. She heard Dasha shout but could not quite pick apart the words.

“....-what you’re doing with that?”

She heard a shot, a gargle and a thud. The Twelve had finally come to put an end to this. Villanelle scoffed with a grin, she was so, so happy they had deceived Dasha, too. She listened out for the footsteps as they echoed, closer and closer to the bathroom. She heard the door creak open. She didn’t even move.

“Villanelle?” The voice was American. Through the blur of her vision, she could see a face surrounded by black curls look down at her. She closed her eyes, she wanted to pretend that her dreams had come true, she wanted to hold onto the hallucination. She must be close to sleep or death, now. She would take whatever came to her. Powerful arms circled around her waist and jerked her up. She fell against them and was dropped.  _ Ah well, it was fun while it lasted. _

“You should have just come to fucking Alaska with me, Eve.”

Villanelle felt one of the arms move to her legs and lift up her knees. She heard a wince and then the floor was coming away from her. She felt herself thrown into the air momentarily but the arms met her again, adjusting. Villanelle felt the energy to be able to hold on. She grabbed onto the shoulder, onto the familiar turtlenecks she knew, this one a burgundy. Her vision was clearing slightly. This was her body’s final push.

  
As she was carried outside, she saw red, again. It had run across the floor and seeped into the ivory sofa, staining it pink. She followed the trail from the sofa to the source, with her eyes. In the middle of the mouth of the lake was Dasha, a clean shot from the neck was pouring out the blood. Her saviour kept walking, though. Through the blood, tracking footprints to the door. She had noticed, though and wiped her feet on the doormat. The move almost seemed callous, in a way. A life had been disposed of and the evidence was just wiped off as an inconvenience. Something she had done, previously.

The light of the Barcelona streets was bright and Villanelle hid her face. She heard the sound of a car unlocking and then, the American voice again. It was not talking to her.

“Please could you open the seat for me? I need to take her to the hospital, she might get an infection.” Villanelle felt her injured arm being moved, exhibited. She heard a man’s grunt and the door of a car opening. The arms placed her on the car seat before moving away, but then she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder, pushing her down so that she was lying. A hand cupped her face and traced her jawline. Her eyes drooped again. She never wanted it to stop, but it pulled away. The door closed and again, she felt alone.

But she heard another door open, another lot of pressure as somebody got into the car and the sounds of clicking seatbelts and engines starting up. The sound of a ringing phone. It confirmed the identity of her saviour.

“Eve.”

“Carolyn.”

The exchange was curt, strained. It was between two people who did not like each other much.

“What are you playing at?”

“I’m getting my girl.”

The car ride lulled Villanelle to a peaceful, comfortable sleep. The smile on her face was from finally, finally belonging with someone. She thought of her words to Eve, back in Rome. 

_ You’re mine. _ She had said. She replaced them with  _ I’m yours. _


End file.
